A blog by a werewolf. Topics include werewolves, fantasy and horror fiction, therianthropy, spirituality, myths and legends, some reviews, cryptids, the unknown, wild animals and science. IMPORTANT note: This blog uses cookies.

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Wednesday, 23 December 2015

Fenrir's Daughters: Honey Cicatrice

It was like butter, and tasted just similar. I spread it over the slice of bread and ate it with ease. It didn't go well with black tea. I laughed when I did this because it was a sign of rite of passage to drink or eat blood. I'm a 25 year old housewife and a werewolf. I'm part of a secret club called Fenrir's Daughters filled with lady werewolves like me.
"It's only pig blood, not human," I told myself.That is what my friends said. I believed them.
After finishing my blood sandwiches, I became a wolf and went out into the field. The moon was strong. I hunted and killed a wild rabbit.
By morning I was home, and craving more blood sandwiches. I went into the butchers shop and bought 2 litres of blood. I returned home and stored it in the cooling fridge. Later I mixed some with my stew and ate that for dinner. I mixed a spoonful of the blood into melted cooking chocolate for cupcakes I was baking. I put on my prettiest ruffled dress with a waist bow, and sprayed my hair to keep it firm. I put on make-up. Yes I was sparkly and bright as a pristine housewife.
When my normal human husband came home from work, I presented him with chocolate blooded cupcakes and blood mixed stew with vegetables and chicken. He knew no better.
He said it was "nice Honey".
So I started writing recipes to do my own cookery book and I had to include blood in everything from dinners to desserts.
When my friends came over and had some of my blood filled food, I was so pleased. I worked magic.
It's true that blood itself can induce some sort of mystical feeling of the dark kind, if treated badly it can lead to disaster. I wasn't interested in making magic or having control over people eating my food.
I was just pleased with what I made. Some insist I'm a vampire instead of a werewolf but what we have in common is that we're monsters. I am not undead and I'm not immortal. I can't turn into a bat. Yet I turn into a wolf, and I am physically stronger than most people because of this family trait.
The problem is, the only unsatisified person who doesn't understand is my older sister who thinks I'm pushing it too far giving blood hidden inside food to innocent people. She warned me about other werewolves who tricked people into eating stuff and they were cursed. She also told me about the alpha she-werewolf politician Marielle Ice, who would punish me if I was caught out.
I didn't want to lose my friends. I don't want my husband to be disappointed in me. He used to always say my cooking was "bland" and "boring" until I sneaked blood in it. I visited my paranoid sister, named Caramel. She started at me over coffee and said:
"Honey, if you keep spiking food with blood, you're going to get into big trouble."
"Okay, okay. You keep telling me sis'. So what shall I do?"
"Just stop it! Have the blood only for yourself," Caramel advised me.
She was telling me what I can do as an alternative. I wonder if that would work?
So the following day I stopped using the blood and instead I added sea salt and alcohol into the food. Disgusting, I thought. I didn't want to eat it. Amazingly, my husband and our friends really liked it.
I just eat blood food by myself and hope that no one takes any or I will be in deep trouble with the alpha lady. The last thing I want is her fangs tearing my throat out.
So please shh for me.